


Livin' Bad Dreams

by sincerelymendacious



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Bobby Z's got problems, Dark fic, F/M, Sensitive themes, so does Chloe but at least they won't land her in jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelymendacious/pseuds/sincerelymendacious
Summary: Bobby visits an old friend. Warning: VERY DARK FIC





	Livin' Bad Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Important, please read: This fic explores the relationship between Bobby and Chloe in what I feel to be an honest, realistic, and quite ugly manner, that does not get touched upon often enough. I do not consider this to be a romance, nor do I approve of an eighteen year-old being interested in a thirteen year-old romantically. There is no kissing, very little physical touching, but the implications are very obvious, and very intense. It also contains depictions of very unhealthy eating habits and a whole lot of rude language. Please skip this fic if any of that makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> Do not continue unless you have read the above statement.

This place hadn't changed one goddamn bit.

Bobby took a long, slow drag of his cigarette and blew out a stream of deep gray smoke into the clear forest air. Behind him stood the gates to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, currently locked and barred. Bobby wasn't waiting for someone to come open them- the gates may have been physically strong and resistant to psi-blasts, but a skilled levitator such as himself could easily jump right over them. He was only delaying his entrance because there was an odd ball of anxiety bouncing around his gut, and he was doing his level best to destroy it with nicotine. Alcohol probably would have been a better choice, but he was here to see someone, and showing up drunk in addition to unexpected would have been a stupid fucking move on his part.

The Fourth of July had fallen on a weekend, and pretty much everyone at HQ had plans. Not Bobby- he and his fellow psi-cadets had a mutual disdain for each other, and as a result he had not been invited to any of the parties being held to celebrate the holiday. Not that he would have gone to any of them; he'd sooner pull out all of his remaining teeth than willingly spend time with those assholes-in-training. He decided that, rather than listen to those idiots go on and on about their plans for the weekend, he'd just fuck off and see the one person that he actually liked. So he'd hopped into his pick-up truck and sped off out of HQ's parking lot, blaring Painkiller loud enough for everyone in the furthest reaches in the building to hear.

At some point in the latter half of the two hour long drive to camp, the doubts had slithered in. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other face to face, and the last time they'd exchanged emails had been...shit, Bobby didn't even know, a year? Two? Had she changed? Was she still wearing her helmet? Bobby would have thought so, she had said that she needed it to breathe and stuff. But maybe not, maybe she'd rigged up some kind of breathing device that allowed her to live without it. She was really smart, she would've been able to figure out how to do something like that.

There had been another thought that had crept in with the doubts, one that reminded him that he was now, as of two months ago, a legal adult. Why the fuck are you still hanging around thirteen year-olds?

He flicked the stub of his cigarette onto to the ground, where it joined three of its fellows. A glance into the package revealed that he was now out of smokes and thus out of excuses for lingering outside the gates. He tossed the empty pack of Camels at his pick-up truck and then launched himself over, landing on both feet in Whispering Rock's parking lot.

Much like the gates, this part of camp had also changed little from the last time he had been here. Same old shitty bus, same old stupidly tall jeep, even the net on the basketball hoop was still the same off-white color. The only difference was the absence of Agent Vodello's red convertible, a bright yellow Ford Focus parked neatly in its place. There was somebody in it, looking down at what was probably a phone. Bobby strode over, grimacing once he realized that the person in the car was Quentin Hedgemouse, one half of a supremely irritating duo. Since Dr. Love was not in the car with him, Bobby assumed that he must have been taking a break from the screaming brats and screaming coach.

He tapped on the window. "Hey Hedgefuck, you jerkin' off in there?"

Quentin jumped in his seat, his phone fumbling from one hand to the other before falling onto the floor. He turned and jumped again upon seeing Bobby's gruesome visage through the glass. His eyes widened and his lips formed a two-syllable word that Bobby couldn't hear. "Roll down the window, moron," Bobby said, satisfied that he had given this loser such a start.

The window slid down one-fourth of the way. "Bobby," Quentin said, the baffled horror in his tone matching his eyes. "What...What are you doing here?" He glanced out of the other window, likely hoping to see either Phoebe or the Coach coming up the way to explain what was going on. "Did...are you like a guest speaker?" he asked when he realized that nobody was coming to rescue him.

Bobby scoffed at the stupidity of the question, wishing he still had the stub of his cigarette to flick at Quentin's dumb, too-pretty face. "I'm looking for Barge."

Quentin blinked. "Barge?"

Between the coach and this genius, it was a miracle that these kids were still alive. Bobby leaned forward, face only centimeters away from the window. "Chloe!" he yelled, his hot breath fogging up the glass. "Where is she?"

Quentin flinched, wrinkling his nose up in disgust. "Ah, dude, I'm not…" His eyes flickered away briefly before returning back to Bobby. "I'm not supposed to give that sort of info out."

Fucking hell, what kind of bullshit was this? Did this guy not know how easy it would be for Bobby to reach in and strangle him? He resisted the urge to do so- as gratifying as it would be to wrap his fist around Quentin's throat, he knew that it was a sure-fire way to get his ass kicked back to HQ. He went for a more psychological tactic instead. "Well, if you can't give that info out," he said, jabbing one nail-bitten finger at the glass, "I'll give out the info that you were out here cranking your hog."

Quentin frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Gross, man," he said, his tone as close to angry as he could get it( which meant that he sounded like a stoner who had just witnessed his friend drink bongwater). "And no, I wasn't doing that," he insisted, two bright spots of red appearing on his cheeks. "I was texting Clem."

"The pussy emo janitor?" Bobby gave out a screechy cackle. "You were out here choking the chicken to Clem the Crazy Custodian!" The idea of it was so disgustingly funny that Bobby bent over in a fit of laughter. "Aw damn, that's fucked up!"

Quentin sighed, finally understanding that Bobby was going to spread that rumor around regardless of whether it was true or not. "Alright, okay," he said, running a hand through his short red hair. "It's lunch now, so she's probably in the Main Lodge." He telekinetically picked his phone up from the floor. "At least, I hope she is."

Bobby had been about to walk away, but the comment caused him to pause. "Hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked threateningly.

"Oh, uh…" Quentin brushed some imaginary dust off of his phone, brows knitting together. "She's been acting kind of weird. Like, leaving meal times early, or just not showing up." He looked up at Bobby, a spark of hope in his expression. "Hey, you two were close, right? Maybe you could find what's going on!"

It took every bit of willpower Bobby had to keep himself from sending his fist through the glass and right into Quentin's face. He settled for hocking a loogie at the window before stalking off in the direction of the Main Lodge, a smile creeping onto his face at Quentin's cry of disgust.

His boots trod heavily on the path, the loud stomp, stomp, stomp scattering nearby birds and lizards off into the bushes to hide. Up ahead, a small boy in a dark blue cap was rolling up the trail on a bright green levitation ball. The boy's movements were slow and clumsy, and he looked like he was one strong breeze away from toppling over. Bobby shot the ball out from under him with one well-aimed psi-blast, smirking as the kid landed on his ass with an 'oof'. The kid swiveled his head around, outraged that someone would commit such a crime against his person. His anger became fear once he spotted the culprit, his mouth dropping open in horror as what looked like some sort of swamp monster rapidly approached him.

Shock held the boy still for the seconds it took Bobby to get within three feet of him, then he shot to his feet and ran off screaming back to the cabins, his arms flailing comically in the air as he fled. Bobby snickered at the display and continued onward.

There were more children closer to the Main Lodge, all of them staring up at him in wide-eyed fright and awe as he passed. One particularly cowardly child actually jumped into a trash can like a goddamned cartoon character. It was to be expected- he'd been described on more than one occasion as 'that big, ugly motherfucker.' He couldn't really argue with that assessment, not with his wild, orange hair, sickly, acne-scarred skin, and horrible, mangled teeth, two of them having become so rotten that they had actually fallen out. A friendly smile probably would have scared these children just as much as the snarl that currently graced his features.

He didn't give a fuck that he was hideous, if anything, he revelled in being able to turn a person's stomach just by walking into a room. There was only one person that he'd ever spruce himself up for, and she, ironically, did not give a shit about what he looked like (although he admittedly was wearing his nicest outfit- an Iron Maiden t-shirt and the one pair of jeans that he owned that didn't have any rips or stains). She had never flinched from his gaze he thought as he cut across the grass, more children fleeing in his wake. She'd never gagged at his smell, or at the sight of his teeth (yellow and misshapen even then), had never recoiled on those rare moments when he'd allowed himself to reach out and touch her on the shoulder.

He paused on the steps, that nervous ball in his stomach once again wreaking havoc on his insides. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and he'd only gotten uglier. He picked at a zit on his cheek, suddenly unsure if she'd be able to tolerate his presence. Then he shook it off and climbed up the rest of the steps. Anxious though he might be, he wasn't a fucking pussy, and he was going to see this through, even if she wound up rejecting him.

He reached out to grab the door handle but his fingertips only brushed against the steel for a second before the door was pulled inward. And then there she was, just standing there before him with her helmet and her yellow t-shirt and her eyes, those pretty grey-green eyes that he could still see through the tinted glass of her face-plate, there she was just standing there with her hand on the door, blinking up at him, and as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

They stood there like that for a solid minute, him gaping at her like an idiot fish before regaining some small bit of his composure. "Hey Chloe," he greeted, his voice having the same pitch as one's break's after they had been slammed on. "What's up and stuff…"

"Bobby," she said softly, more to herself than to him. Her voice hadn't changed at all, still high-pitched and clear, just as it had been all those years ago. Phone calls between them had been sparse in the time between when he had left camp and now, but hearing it had always made him feel like things would turn out okay (even if they really hadn't- his fault, not hers). He felt the nervous ball disintegrate within in him.

She blinked and shook away her surprise. "Bobby," she repeated, louder this time (and fuck,hearing her say his name so warmly made him so giddy that he thought he might start floating right then and there). "I wasn't expecting to see you here." It was a plain statement of fact, but the way she said it indicated that she regarded it as a pleasant surprise, and his confidence went up a notch.

He tried to play it off nonchalantly, though what he really wanted to do was gather her up and hold her close to him. "Aw, y'know," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I was just in the neighborhood." Okay, a two-hour drive out into the wilderness couldn't really be considered 'in the neighborhood,' but it was still the same state, right? "Thought I'd come see you cuz…" He blushed, his face turning a shade of red that really brought out the yellow in his teeth. "...we ain't seen each other in a while," he finished weakly.

She nodded, her helmet shaking with the movement and making her look like a little bobble-head. "It has been almost four of your Earth years," she said, tipping her head back a little to re-adjust the helmet's position. "Although, it would have only been two years had we been on my home planet."

He could see her mouth curving upwards through her face plate, so he gave her one grimace of smile back in return, and he was just so goddamn happy to see her that he didn't notice the chubby girl with mouse-brown hair down to her waist trot up to the door until she was right behind Chloe. A loud, wet sniff, and then, "Uh, excuse me, Chloe?" Bobby sneered- this kid sounded like that donkey from Winnie the Pooh after someone cut his balls off. "I dunno if you know this," a pause for breath, "but you're, uh," another sniff, "you're blocking the exit." A slow, laborious breath. "Also there's a strange adult male in front of you."

Bobby bristled at the words. He gave the literal snot-nose brat his most menacing glare. "Hey shit-for-brains, we're trying to have a conversation here. Scram!"

The girl stared up at him with blank, beady eyes and then wiped her nose on her sleeve in a manner that made even Bobby nauseated. "I'd like to scram," she explained, "but you two," she pointed at them, moving her arm back and forth like a dog wagging its tail, "are, uh, blocking the exit."

"Apologies, Mimi," Chloe said as she stepped out of the way and motioned for Bobby to do the same. "He's an old friend that I haven't seen in a long time."

Mimi looked from Chloe to Bobby and then back at Chloe. "Uh-huh," she said, before lumbering off out the door.

Bobby watched her walk down the steps with all the speed and urgency of a very old turtle. "What the hell was that?" he asked, shaking his head derisively and gesturing at Mimi's retreating form. "Man, headquarters must be getting desperate."

"She's the best in our class, actually," Chloe said, now heading out of the lodge herself. "It's her first year and she's already obtained the highest rank. If she works on her hygiene she'll definitely be welcome on my crew."

"Ain't that something," Bobby muttered as he followed her. They were walking towards a bench, one that was right next to the trash can that kid had jumped into. Bobby gave it a kick before he sat. There was no scream or grunt in response to the impact, just an empty thud, so he assumed that the child had left. Just as well; the last thing he wanted was some brat listening in on their conversation.

Though, at the moment, words between them were sparse as they sat together on the bench, him idly tapping his fingers on his knees and her with her skinny legs stretched out in front of her. Three reddened bumps stood out against the pale skin of her right leg, mosquito bites probably. They'd gotten longer, he thought, the only part of her that seemed to have grown at all- there was no way that she topped four-foot-nine and her Whispering Rock T-shirt was still baggy despite her having tucked it into her shorts. He averted his eyes guiltily, knowing that it was really fucking weird for a guy his age to stare at a thirteen year-old's legs. He let his gaze fall on the napkin-wrapped lump of something that Chloe had brought out with her from the Main Lodge and set between them. Probably one of Chef Cruller's nasty-ass burgers. Grease seeped through the napkin, staining it the color of murky water.

Silence stretched between them. It should have been awkward, perhaps, but it wasn't. It made Bobby think of that night the Coach had gone psycho and stolen everybody's brains. They'd hung out together in his office after being rebrained; her working on a way to contact her people and him standing guard diligently. They hadn't spoken much then- occasionally Chloe would request that he pass her a tool or a part, or she'd vent her frustration at how poorly constructed and primitive Earth radios were- but mostly, he'd been content to simply bask in the presence of someone that wasn't either cowering from him or giving him shit.

That, of course, had been back before things had become completely fucked for him. He'd never really believed that he'd ever make something of himself, even all those years ago, but at the time he had thought that if a girl as cool as Chloe could see the good in him, maybe there was a chance for him to turn out somewhat decent after all.

That hope was long departed (even now his eyes kept sliding to her legs) but it was still nice to have that good feeling back for however long he was able to stay with her. If they never said a single word to each other, if they just sat here together on this bench watching the clouds drift by, he would consider this trip well-fucking worth it.

She did eventually speak, about five minutes after they had sat down. "Look at this," she said, rummaging through her backpack. She pulled out what looked to be a small, handheld radio with several high-tech attachments on it. Bobby didn't know all that much about technology (he'd tried to read up on it, but all those big, complicated words had made him go cross-eyed), but it seemed like Chloe had constructed the attachments herself- the radio was red and charcoal grey, but the attachments were a mix of light steel and shining copper, likely the result of her having to make due with materials she could find here at camp.

"That some kind of radio?" he asked as she handed it over to him. "Looks cool." He tuned one of the dials, the opening beats of a rap track emerging from the speaker, and then fading out when he turned it back off. "You gonna contact your people with this?" He traced his finger over a piece of metal that had been stuck to the antenna.

"Affirmative," she said, motioning for him to pass the device back to her. He did so, grinning foolishly as she delved into an explanation of all of the modifications she had made to the cheap little radio the woman who called herself Chloe's mom had bought for her from Wal-Mart. He tried his best to listen and to understand, but she spoke so quickly and with such excitement that he could only catch about one-in-three words. It was cool though. Nobody where he came from was passionate about anything other than their next beer, and the other cadets at HQ weren't much better, most of them only in it for the money, the prospect of becoming famous, or because they were too broken to go anywhere else. Chloe had a real purpose in her life, and the determination to accomplish anything she set her mind to, which was more than Bobby could say about himself, or anyone else that he knew.

"Right now, I've only managed to make it powerful enough to reach some stations that play decent music," she said as she carefully put the radio back into her bag. "But I will need to find a way to make the signal more powerful, or to increase the range of my own telepathy significantly."

"How 'bout Psytanium?" Bobby blurted out louder than he had intended. Through the glass of her helmet he could see her furrow her brows in thought. "Stuff's supposed to make your powers stronger." At HQ he'd heard stories of agents using it on the more dangerous missions to give themselves a boost, though such things were against the rules. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I could get you some. They got deposits of it everywhere." None of which that he, as a mere cadet, had access to, but it couldn't be that hard to get. Psytanium was no different from any other illicit substance- you just had to find the right person and it could be yours, as long as you had the money to pay for it. Was it risky? Sure, but if it meant helping Chloe reach her goal, then he considered it worth taking.

Bobby held his breath as he watched Chloe think his offer over, and then let it out dejectedly when she shook her head. "I can't accept that, Bobby," she said. "I know the protocols- there's a copy of the Psychonauts Training Manual in the Main Lodge- and you could get in a lot of trouble if you were caught with that substance in your possession."

The initial sting of her rejection was soothed by the fact that she only done so because she was worried about him. "Aw, hell," he said, "they won't get me." He gave her a toothy, confident grin."I'm way too slick for that."

"No, Bobby," Chloe said firmly. "I can't have you doing something like that." She reached out and lay her small, small hand over his. "As my highest ranking officer, I cannot allow you to go to prison. But the offer is appreciated."

There was a blue vein that showed through the skin of her hand. Bobby wanted to run his finger along it, to follow it up her arm, around her shoulder, and up her neck until he found her pulse fluttering at her throat. He needed to pull away from her, needed to take her hand off of him, because apparently he was such a fucked-up pervert that even casual, platonic touches like this caused his brain to automatically go to those sick, ugly thoughts that he had while alone in his bunk.

She snatched her hand away suddenly and Bobby's heart stopped, convinced that she had overheard his thoughts. He snapped his head up, face hot, expecting to see her staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. But no, she wasn't even looking at him, her gaze instead directed at the path leading up to the Main Lodge as she picked up the greasy bundle next to her.

Bobby turned his head and groaned when he spotted Phoebe heading over to their bench, her gait swift and confident. He gritted his teeth, annoyed by the way she moved, as though she were on an important mission that only she had the ability to tackle (in this case that mission was irritate the fuck out of Bobby). Goddamnit, she was probably here to get all self-righteous about that stupid kid that he'd shot. He nudged Chloe with his elbow. "Check out Agent Buzzkill over there."

Chloe didn't respond, her steely eyes fixed on Phoebe's approaching form. Slowly, she lifted her helmet -not all the way, just above her mouth, just enough to capture Bobby's attention and make his jaw drop a little.

Her mouth. He couldn't remember seeing it this close before, as it had always been hidden by the bottom of her helmet. Soft and pink, flakes of dead skin clinging to the bottom lip. Bobby wanted to rub some of that skin off with his thumb. She pushed back part of the napkin and brought the burger to her mouth, lips twitching in disgust before taking the smallest of bites.

It seemed like it had happened in slow motion; the press of her perfect, pearly teeth onto the stale bun lasting minutes rather than the half-second it likely actually took. He could only watch, transfixed, as she chewed, the motions of her jaw slow and reluctant.

It was Phoebe's annoying, know-it-all voice that brought him out of this stupor. "Agent Zilch," she greeted, hands on her hips. "Didn't think I'd see you here." Her eyes narrowed a little at his shrug. "You could have called ahead to let us know that you were coming."

Bobby spat, the foul spittle landing right in front of her nice, new hiking boots. "I ain't gonna be here long," he hissed, his teeth already on edge from her tone, "so don't get your fire-proof panties in a bunch."

Her face reddened at the coarse comment, and the air around him began to heat up. Bobby tensed, ready to spring from the bench should this hot-headed bitch decide to light his ass up. She sucked a breath through her teeth and blew it out, and then the temperature returned to normal. He sagged with relief- as chicken-shit as it made him feel to admit it, he didn't feel all that confident that a fight with Phoebe Love, a girl who regularly spared with Commie Bear-fucker extraordinaire Mikhail Bulgakov, would end in his favor. She turned her attention away from Bobby and directed it at Chloe, who was still working on that mouth full of burger. "Hi Chloe," she began, her expression shifting into one of poorly-concealed concern. "Are you enjoying your lunch?"

Chloe gave a stiff nod. Bobby thought that she looked like she was about to puke, which was completely understandable if she was eating something Chef Cruller made.

"That's good," Phoebe replied,mimicking Chloe's nod. Bobby rolled his eyes, hoping some dumbass kid would fall down the stairs so that this Dr. Phil wannabee would leave them alone. "Lunch is technically supposed to be eaten in the Main Lodge," she continued, her eyes sliding from Chloe to Bobby and then back to Chloe. "But it's cool if you want to eat out here. As long as you're, you know." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "Eating."

What in the hell was she rambling about? "Thanks for stopping by and giving us your blessing," he said sarcastically. "You can go back to changing diapers, or whatever the hell it is you do around here."

Phoebe frowned, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye, but did not rise to his bait. "We're having a barbecue for Fourth of July." She glanced down at Chloe's burger and then squared her shoulders, strengthening her resolve. "I'd really like it," she winced, as though the words had caused her physical pain, "if you would join us, Bobby."

She didn't sound like she would like that at all, which was almost enough to make Bobby accept her invitation right away. "Yeah, whatever. We'll see." He made a shooing motion at her. "Now can you please screw-off? Me and Chloe are trying to have lunch here."

She crossed her arms over her chest, already regretting extending the invite to him. "Chloe, you know how to reach me if you need me." And with that, she stomped off to the Main Lodge, casting a single glance back at them.

The moment she was far away enough Chloe leaned over the side of the bench and spat the chewed-up burger onto the grass. Bobby sat there like a fool, unsure of what to do. "Jeez, Chloe," he said, reaching out, but pulling back before touching her. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered hoarsely reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of water. She hastily took a swig, downing nearly half of the bottle in one go. She spat that out as well. "I didn't consume any of...that."

'That' meaning the burger still sitting in her lap. Bobby grabbed it and deposited it in the trash while she took another gulp of water, slower this time. "Yeah, I remember eating this shit," he said, watching as a drop of water ran down her chin and landed on her shirt. He leaned forward and wiped the water away with the back of his hand, her skin smooth against his rough knuckles. He thought he saw her cheeks turn pink in the brief second before she pulled her helmet down and his heart jumped a little. "I'd have horked that back up too."

Chloe didn't immediately reply, scrutinizing him through her visor as another silence fell between them, this one not as comfortable as the last. Bobby clenched his fists nervously, sweat dripping from his brow, and wondered if he had gone too far by touching her. She drew in a breath and then spoke, her voice hushed and low. "There was an incident last year," she began, keeping her eyes trained on his, "in which I was incapacitated after consuming some marine crustaceans." A shudder ran through her at the unpleasant memory. "I was laid up in a medical facility for a good while, and it set me back on my research quite a bit." She looked down at her bottle of water, now three-quarters of the way empty.

Bobby's jaw went slack, a nauseous anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. How had he not heard about this? Last year had been so dull and miserable that he hadn't contacted her at all, not wanting to bore her with the drudgery of his shitty life, but look at what he had missed! She could have died, he realized with shame, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat. She could have died and he wouldn't have known until he'd pulled up here and asked to see her. "Oh, sorry bro," the imaginary Quentin said offhandedly in his head, "She like, totally croaked. Bummer."

"There's no cause for concern," she assured when she saw his stricken expression. "I've taken steps to remedy this issue, and am keeping very strict control of my intake." She shook her head, crushing the plastic bottle between her hands. "It was foolish of me to not consider how Earth cuisine could affect my system."

Bobby felt his anxiety ebb away at the reassurance, confident that Chloe had the problem well in hand. "So...what do you eat?" he asked, intending on filing the information away in case he ever took her out to lunch. "Like, there are things that won't kill you, right?"

"Affirmative. Plant matter seems to agree with my biology well enough," Chloe answered, unzipping the front pocket of her bag. She retrieved a small spiral notebook and passed it over to him. "I keep a very detailed log of what is and isn't safe for me to eat," she explained as he began flipping through the notebook.

She wasn't kidding. There were pages and pages of food items, listed in neat, organized columns. There appeared to be more unsafe foods than safe, the bulk of them being animal products, sugary drinks, and pretty much anything that came in a package or out of a can. The stuff she had deemed okay for her to eat consisted mostly of fruits and vegetables; broccoli, carrots, corn, apples, things like that. Eugh. Bobby shut the notebook and hoped that she'd have better food on her home planet. "I guess you're not going to that dumb barbeque then, huh?" He hoped not, it would be nice to hang out with her without having to worry about a camper or a counselor interfering.

Her slumped shoulders dashed his hopes. "I'm afraid that I must attend," she said, sighing wearily. "The counselors here have been showing unnecessary and unwanted concern over my dietary habits."

"Seriously?" Bobby said, outrage flaring up within him. "What the hell, don't they know that you could die?"

"They are aware of my problem with shellfish," Chloe replied, taking the notebook back. "But Counselor Love claims that further restriction is unhealthy." Frustration had seeped into her tone, and when she put the book back in her bag she shoved it in there with more force than needed.

Of course. Fucking Dr. Love, always butting her stupid head in things she didn't understand and giving out worthless advice. "Man, she thinks she's hot shit because they let her be a Psychonaut early." He gave Chloe a conspiratorial grin. "I bet the head instructor just passed her because he got tired of her constant yammering."

"Hmm, perhaps," Chloe said, laughing a little. "In any case, if I do not attend, then her meddling will merely increase, which will surely interfere with the work I'm trying to do here." She leaned back against the bench, her helmet tilting downwards. "Her concern is genuine, and it would be warranted if an Earthling my age was behaving in this manner. But I am not from this planet. I have made this fact clear, but she refuses to listen."

"Fuck her then," Bobby snarled, half-tempted to march into the Main Lodge and use his fists to explain to Phoebe why she needed to step the hell off of Chloe. He saw Chloe jump a little next to him, startled either by the rage in his tone or the language he'd used to express it. "Er, sorry," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But she just doesn't get it." And no, Phoebe didn't get it, and neither did Quentin, or the Coach, or anybody else in this stupid camp. None of them could open their pea-sized minds long enough to even consider that Chloe could be right, because it was just easier for them to write her off as just crazy than try to understand. They were afraid of her, Bobby thought, afraid of her intelligence, afraid of her ideas, and shaking in their boots at her determination to see those ideas through.

But Bobby wasn't afraid. They were too alike for him to be, both of them misunderstood by everyone around them, and if anyone could see the appeal of blasting right the fuck off of this shitty planet, it was him. "I'll go to the lame barbeque with you.

"It's not necessary," Chloe said, but there was a note of hopefulness in her words, and she sat up a little straighter. "You won't enjoy it anymore than I will, and I would not want to delay your return to headquarters."

Bobby scoffed. "You ain't gotta worry 'bout that," he said dismissively. It wasn't like anyone would care that he was gone after curfew tonight, given that everyone else was likely to be late as well. "If they try to make you eat any of their trash food, I'll throw it right back in their dumb faces."

She visibly relaxed, and didn't argue further against his going to the barbeque. "You don't have to go that far," she said gratefully. "But thank you."

In the end, Bobby hadn't had to toss anything around. The buffet of greasy food and the prospect of a questionably legal fireworks show later in the evening had riled the kids up so much that they resembled a bunch of rats that gotten into a batch of crank. All of the counselors had their hands full keeping them in line, and between preventing the kids from killing each other and stopping the Coach from doing the same, Phoebe hadn't had time to spare anything more than a few glances their way. In those glances all that she would have seen was Bobby and Chloe quietly observing the chaos around them and the food on Chloe's plate (a burger and a scoop of corn) slowly but steadily disappearing. It must have been enough to satisfy her, as she didn't attempt to pester them again for the rest of the night.

Bobby was feeling pretty satisfied himself as he crossed the parking lot, Chloe following along. Their ruse had worked- well, alright, maybe him cramming his mouth full of near-burnt burger while nobody was looking wasn't really a ruse, but he still felt really good about getting Phoebe off of Chloe's back for the night. They'd spent the last two or so hours as peacefully as they could with a bunch of screaming children running around them, talking about Chloe's plans for the future. Even the fireworks had been pretty cool, the Coach nearly taking his remaining eye out with a bottle rocket being the highpoint of the show.

He felt like he had taken a hit of some very good weed, his mood being so light that not even his fast approaching departure could darken it. One of the plans that he and Chloe had discussed involved more consistent communication between the two of them, through email and on the phone. He might be leaving her soon, but he wasn't going to months without speaking to her like he had before. Things were going to be different he swore as they headed over to the gates. He was going to try harder with his training, wasn't going to let his peers or the grueling monotony of his everyday life get to him anymore. He had every intention of letting Chloe do most of the talking, but from now on, whenever she asked about his training, he was going to have something to actually report, rather than a half-baked lie.

He arrived at the gates first, Chloe lagging just behind. He frowned, noticing that her breath was fogging up her helmet and cursed himself for not taking their height difference into account. "You alright, Chloe?" he asked, trying to keep himself from staring at the way her chest rose and fell.

Chloe dismissed his worry with a wave of her hand. "It's nothing," she said between pants. " I only require a moment to recover."

Bobby nodded. Above them, the sky was pitch black and dotted with stars, the moon round and gold like those fake doubloons they put on the scavenger hunt. He remembered how Coach used to wake them up at the ass-crack of dawn and put her exhaustion down to the fact that she'd been awake for fifteen hours.

There was an uncomfortable pause as they stood facing each other in front of the gates. Bobby had no idea what the hell he was supposed to say at this point. It wasn't often that he said goodbye to someone; most of his social interactions ended with either him or the other party stalking off in anger or disgust. The closest he'd ever come to a heartfelt farewell had been when he had left home for good, and he doubted that the terse 'see ya later,' he'd given his mom would work in this situation.

Thankfully, Chole spoke first. "I-" she swallowed and then tried again. "Thank you for coming here," she said seriously. The light from the lone working street lamp reflected off of her helmet and obscured her face, but he didn't' need to see her eyes to know that they were making direct contact with his. "This year has been a difficult one for me, and I hadn't realized just how burnt-out I'd been feeling until you came." There was a hitch in her tone, and she let a second pass before continuing. "You cannot imagine how grateful I am that you have given me this respite."

Bobby's face turned purple and he was barely able to believe his ears. She was grateful to him? He was the one who should be down on his knees and thanking her! Up until this day his life had been on long parade of bullshit rules, boring classes, shitty people and abject failure, and he hadn't been able to see any escape to it that didn't involve him losing his mind. But today, Chloe had given him hope that things could be better, that he could be better, if he just put the same amount of work and passion into his pursuits as she did into hers.

He wanted to say that to her, more than anything, because she deserved to hear it. But his words became trapped in his throat when he tried to speak, and the ones that managed to escape stumbled over his tongue. "O-oh, you know," he sputtered, glad that she was standing just far away enough to not have any of his spittle land on her. "It's-yeah, it's whatever. It's no big." He giggled like a complete moron and glanced nervously at the gates. "Well, I guess I'll-"

His awkward farewell was cut off by Chloe abruptly launching herself at his midsection, her helmet hitting him hard in the chest. He stood stock still, arms spread wide out as his sides as she clutched him tightly, eyes widening with shock. He came out of his paralysis a moment later, slowly bringing his arms down to return her embrace.

Nothing in his life that had come before- not the first time he had set something on fire, not discovering Black Sabbath, not his first taste of alcohol- had ever felt as right as holding her did. He couldn't stop himself from pulling her closer until she was standing on the tips of her toes, the restraint he'd been relying on all day having suddenly flown the coop. She gave a small squeak as his hands began roaming over her back, his fingers tracing over the knobs of her spine and the ridges of her ribs through the material of her t-shirt. Heat pooled in his stomach. She was just so...tiny and light, he thought as she started to squirm. Picking her up and dragging her small frame against his would be no trouble at all, and he'd have to lift that helmet up only a little to get access to those chapped, pink lips…

A swift kick to his shin sent that train of thought careening off its track and right into a ditch. Bobby immediately released Chloe and could only watch in horror as she backed away from him, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to put distance between herself and his dirty, grasping hands. He couldn't see her face, couldn't tell if she was angry or disgusted or scared or all three, and wasn't sure if he could bear seeing her looking at him in any of those ways. The collar of her too-large shirt had slid down her shoulder, and God-Fucking- Damn if he couldn't keep his perverted mind from focusing right in on the sharp jut of her collar bone. She quickly tugged the shirt back into place and guilt racked at him as he realized that she had probably overheard his thoughts. "Chloe-" he choked out, pathetically reaching out to her. "I can…" Can what? Explain to her that he was a gross cretin that had been lusting over her for years? He didn't have to do that, she obviously already knew from the way she had flung herself away from him.

"Apologies," she said, interrupting whatever idiotic nonsense he'd been about to spew next. "I, ah, must be off. Goodbye." And with that, she ran off to the cabins, and out of Bobby's life forever if she knew what was good for her.

For a second, Bobby just stood there, feeling as though the world around him was falling to pieces. And then he turned on his heel, his fists clenched and teeth grinding together has he stepped over to the gates. Anger surged through him, boiling his blood, all of it directed at himself.

Stupid fucking asshole. He jumped up and landed on his feet. Piece of shit lecherous bastard trash-ass fuckhead. He hopped up again and was met with yet another failure. No-good, disgusting, ugly, filthy pedo pervert. He squatted low, and then lifted himself, going just high enough over the gates to see over them before plummeting down to the ground.

"Fuck!" he roared, not giving one solitary shit if Phoebe or Quentin or Coach Potato Head could hear him. "God..Fuck!" He aimed a vicious kick at the gates. They flew open, the hinges squealing loudly. Bobby blinked, surprised,and then laughed at how goddamn motherfucking stupid he was. Of course they'd open- they were only locked from the outside.

He laughed all the way to his truck, braying like a hysterical donkey. He was still cackling as he opened the door, so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks.


End file.
